November 17 to 18, 1872 Monday

This letter was found by Charles J. Storkan of Kent State University. Published in The Twainian, Volume 8 Number 4 (1949).

THE Cleveland Plain Dealer of January 13, 1876, ran an article announcing the coming of a bazaar for the city of Cleveland. “The affair,” as it stated, “would be one of the most successful ever held in the city,” and to attest to its splendor, its own four page newspaper was published. The paper first appeared on January 18 bearing the title “The Bazaar Record.” The bazaar ran until January 22, when it closed and with it closed the paper.

The first issue of this paper carried a sketch entitled “Some Recollections of a Storm at Sea,” written by Mark Twain. ...

Coming by accident upon this Bazaar editorial item as well as the sketch, “Some Recollections of a Storm at Sea,” I was astonished that an author of “The Innocents Abroad, “Roughing It” and “The Gilded Age" would write for a sheet that advertised a bazaar. The answer to this question lies in the fact that, as readers hereof are aware, Mrs. A. W. Fairbanks, a newspaper correspondent on her husband’s paper, The Cleveland Herald, was the editor of The Bazaar Record, and a close friend, as well as critic of Twain's Quaker City letters to the Alta California. At her request he no doubt sent her the “Storm at Sea” tale, written several years previously…

This is not an event from the Quaker City excursion but an occurrence of November 17 and 18 of 1872, as noted in Day By Day.  Mark Twain was enroute from Liverpool to Boston on board the Batavia, captained by Captain John E. Mouland. Sam wrote to the Royal Humane Society about the storm and a later rescue of men stranded on the Charles Ward. and recommending Captain John E. Mouland and crew be awarded the Royal Humane Society’s medal. Sam and nineteen passengers signed the letter.

SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF A STORM AT SEA

Being an Extract from Chapter III, of a Book Begun Three Years Ago, But Afterwards Abandoned.)

For the next hour or two there was a constant augmentation of the storm.  Nobody did anything but cling to the bench-backs under the dismal glimmer of the lamps (there was no other light, although the morning was well advanced), and listen to the deep booming of the seas as they hurled themselves against the ship's distant bows. By half-past nine hardly any support was sufficient to enable a man to keep his feet. At this hour one of those sickening lulls, one of those dread suspensions of all motion which tells that the ship’s center is pinnacled on a watery Alp, and that when she topples over and plunges down on the other side there is going to be trouble -and while every creature held his breath she quivered a moment and down she went! And with her went everybody, sprawling to the floor.  There was a terrific crash, as if she struck the rock of Gibraltar, and in that instant a sea went bodily over her, breaking a sky-light on the upper deck, bending the thick bars of an iron fence till they curved like bows, splitting in two, and carrying away half of a short board three inches thick, that was lashed high away upon the bridge, and passing into the ocean again from the upper deck on the other side of the vessel, riddled a strong life-boat to splinters, and swept it overboard, along with one of its great iron davits!

And down on our deck it smashed in the starboard bulwarks, flooded the deck waist-deep, entered the galley, seized the smoking hot breakfast, washed every vestige of it overboard, crushed in the saloon door and came pouring along the carpets, bringing with it (with a final crash) the bar stores, and spreading a ruin of champagne and Irish whisky bottles all around! And in the next instant another sea came over the port side, bringing a broad specimen of the bulwarks along with it, stove in the port door of the saloon, and set the luggage afloat in all the staterooms on that side.

“Well!” (It was the only remark that came into my mind, and it did not appear to meet the case, either.) Up to that moment I had felt little or no concern. But judging by the mighty crash that had assailed our ears, I felt almost sure that the ship’s sides had been crushed in, and, possibly, by a collision with another ship; and, therefore, as ours was an iron vessel, she must go down with the prompt facility of an iron pot. I tried to make up my mind as to what plan of action to pursue, and was getting along very well with it (considering that I had been at it only a thirty-fifth or a fortieth part of a second), when a stalwart young man at my side exclaimed:

“We're gone! ... O, my God! ...  We're gone, we're gone!”

He scared me, and so I said to myself, never mind the plan, I'll get a life-preserver. I had seen a couple on the floor, but they were not there now. I went into my room, and saw that these had been mine — the plunging of the ship had thrown them out through the ventilator. Then I thought I would go and borrow one of the Cardiff (as we called him); and I will do myself the credit to say that I meant to get both of his, and save some woman with the extra one. At the time, it did not occur to me that that would be a little ungenerous to the Giant; and even now I am not sorry for it, because it was such a splendid unconscious compliment to that big Englishman's manhood—it ignored the possibility of any difficulty or any peril which he could not extricate himself from by his own strength, and his own courage. As I fought my precarious way along the careening floor, dismay sat upon almost every face encountered; and if I had been the spirit of the storm, I could not have resisted the appealing looks that spoke from some of those eyes. I shall always remember the sorrowful picture the dim ghostliness of the lamps revealed at that moment. I put my hand on the Giant’s door without knocking—not supposing for a moment that he was in—and just then a mighty plunge of the ship shot me clear across his stateroom, head first.  A voice said:

“Hallo—what's wanted?”

I looked up from the floor, where I was holding on to something—I peered through the gloom, and, as I am a sinner, that calm, genial iceberg was standing up on his hind legs SHAVING!

How he could see anything, or how he kept his feet I never cared to inquire. All that I thought of, was, that I was unspeakably ashamed of my errand. He said:

“Sorry you fell. Did you hurt yourself? Anything wanting?”

“No,” I said; “I only came to borrow a—a match.”

(I believe some people will lie even in the very presence of the grave, if to tell the truth would make them blush.)

I got a match (had about a thousand in my pocket), and came out thinking to myself that it could not be much of a storm after all. Thus, one man had scared me, when the sea failed to do it, and now another had completely restored my tranquility—and neither had employed more than a look and a word. What docile slaves of outside influence men are!

And now came another specimen: Captain Moland had followed one of those seas in, that smashed the saloon doors, and with a bright, cheery glance, and a breezy word or two had swept their terrors away almost as completely as if he had brought sunshine in his face and summer zephyrs in his breath. And yet, at that moment, the ship was in the greatest danger. When the Giant came out, wherever he went, his brave, tranquil face wrought its miracle. The reinforcements of the courage that saves wavering armies, and wins battles, is drawn from the commanding officer, as from a reservoir.

The influence which one individual may exercise over many was happily illustrated in one of the great battles of our civil war. For months a certain colonel had subjected his men to ceaseless drill. The manual had become so mechanical with them that no order delivered in the martial music of his magnificent voice could take them by surprise—their hands instantly executed it even if their thoughts were miles away. Once well into a battle, soldiers will fight steadily on, oblivious to everything else—till the ammunition gives out. Then they wilt into a panic like stricken things. This particular regiment was face to face with the enemy, on a notable day in our history, loading and firing with might and main—the opposing guns almost touching. All at once the Colonel saw a quiver run down the line— experience told him the ammunition was out. In one instant more there would be a wild stampede, the rear masses would take it up, the day would be lost. He would give the world for a saving expediment. The happy thought flashed upon him—the drill! He rose in his stirrups and his voice pealed out above the clamor of the guns:

“Attention! Order—ARMS!” (Down came the muskets.) “Shoulder — ARMS!” (Up they went again.) “Mark time—by the left flank—forward— MARCH!”

And with drums beating, and colors flying, they stepped away as gallantly through the storm of fire, and smoke, and thunder, as if they had been on dress parade. They arrived in safety in the rear, without breaking ranks. To that man really belongs the honor of the great victory that was won that day.

MARK TWAIN.